WBY - Swords and Switches
by wildblueyonder6
Summary: Summary: AU- historical. A continuation of the Ring Work, Magnus and Locherby. It is not necessary to read them, but you might like to. There is a lot in common between princes and horses. Luckily Stable Master Jeff is familiar with both of them. There is parental discipline in this story, please don't read if that offends.


WBY - Swords and Switches

Summary: RPF of a sorts. A continuation of the Ring Work, Magnus and Locherby. It is not necessary to read them, but you might like to. There is a lot in common between princes and horses. Luckily Stable Master Jeff is familiar with both of them. There is parental discipline in this story, please don't read if that offends.

XXX

Jensen spent the morning with Sir Gael. The man was a brutal taskmaster with the sword. Sweat dripped down his face, pooling in the hollow of his throat, and his tunic was a shade darker than when he started.

Sir Gael thrust hard and Jensen barely met his thrust with a parry. He was tired, he was sweaty and he'd had enough.

"Arret!" Jensen yelled with as much force as a 13-year-old could muster, his French impeccable.

Sir Gael tilted a bushy gray eyebrow at his Prince, but he did step back and drop his sword, "My Lord. I realize you are tired, but it is my job to teach you to protect yourself."

Jensen glared at his knight. "No – it is _your_ job to protect ME!"

"I serve at your leisure, My Lord, and that is one of my responsibilities. However I would be neglectful in my duties if I did not instruct you in the art of swordsmanship."

"No more!" Jensen bellowed. It was rude and disrespectful but he didn't care.

Sir Gael stood quietly, obviously unhappy, but he acquiesced to his Prince.

"As you wish."

Jensen turned away and stomped toward the castle but instead, he hit the solid bulk of Master Jeff, the Master of the Stable at Locherby.

"My Lord," Jeff said in way of greeting.

"I am not in the mood, Jeff."

Jeff arched a brow at the lack of formality. "Jeff?"

Jensen glowered, "Yes, Jeff. That is your name is it not?"

Jeff sighed, "Aye, My Lord, but you are to address me as Master Morgan or perhaps Master Jeff. Not Jeff."

"I will address you as I see fit. I am Prince here at Locherby, heir to the Throne and to be your King. You are nothing but the Master of the Stable. _My_ stable, I might add. You should be respectful of _my _Title!"

Jeff kept his composure, but his face was grim and when he spoke it was a low growl. "You're at lesson with me is in one hour. You will be ready and at the stables at that time. There is no need to bring Prince Jared. One on one with me today, My Lord."

With that Jeff turned and left striding toward the stables.

Jensen fumed. Threw his sword down carelessly on the ground. Sir Gael could pick it up or a page could get it or it could sit in the mud. It meant nothing to him. It was his fighting/training sword, weighted perfectly for a boy of 13, but of full length and made with care by Locherby's Master Sword Smith. It was ornate, although not overly, and worth more than most men made in a year.

No matter, he had others.

Jensen barreled in through Locherby's Baily. As usual, it was bustling with movement; men and women carrying on with the daily living of Locherby. He ignored them all and entered the Great Hall where he headed straight down a side hall to the kitchen. His brother was there, devouring oatcakes, drizzled with honey. Their great wolfhound, Roland, was curled under the table. He was the only dog allowed in the kitchen and he took advantage of it whenever either of his young masters was there.

"Hello, Jensen," Jared said, mouthful of oatcakes.

Jensen glared at his nine-year-old brother. "You eat like a pig."

Jared laughed and then snorted piggy sounds until Cook slapped him lightly in the head.

"Behave yourself," she said without heat and Jared just grinned. "Yes, ma'am," he said, but there was no shame in him as he licked a trail of honey from the side of his face and then dropped a small piece of mutton under the table. There was a corresponding gulp from Roland.

Mrs. McDonough was the traditional, stout cook. But looks could be deceiving. She was a blur of movement as she efficiently handled the large kitchen staff and at times two young boys. Or more, as there was always a stable boy or houseboy around sniffing for food. She'd learned long ago that keeping boys, knights and the large staff well fed was not a job for the weak.

"My Lord," Mrs. McDonough turned to the Jensen. "Some oat cakes for you as well?"

"No," he answered grumpily. "I just knew Jared would be here and I wanted to tell him he lucked out; no lesson with Master Morgan today for him."

Jared turned to Jensen. "I was rather looking forward to our lesson."

"That's because you ride Sage and that pony that wouldn't give you a moment's trouble. I, on the other hand…" He let his voice trail off and then left the kitchen without so much as a goodbye.

He stomped through the hallway, The Great Hall and started up the stone steps toward his bedchamber. He was stopped only by his mother's voice from her study.

"Jensen."

Jensen sighed, a long-suffering sound, but squared his shoulders and approached her study. She was seated, as was her habit, behind a large desk that had been his father's. For a queen, she was dressed quite plainly in royal blue, her long blond hair plaited and styled neatly upon her head. A soft tendril had escaped and it curled loosely around her face. There were ledger books in front of her, a quill pen, ink well, a few papers and her wax seal. The blue in her dress brought out eyes the color of the sea. They were bright, despite her obviously tedious and tiring work.

"Mother," Jensen addressed her with a short bow.

"And where are you going in such a rush on such a fine day?" the Queen asked.

"To my chambers, to dress for riding."

"Ah, yes, Master Morgan says you are doing beautifully."

Jensen barely controlled the roll in his eyes. "Master Morgan says a lot of things, Mother. I barely have time to register half of them. "

"You seem out of sorts, my dear. Is there anything wrong?" she asked, her blue eyes meeting his green.

"No. I do, however ,wonder why you insist on doing the accounting and books. We have accountants to do that."

His mother stood up from her desk and trailed a hand lightly over the polished wood. She gently tousled his blond hair. "Your father always said it was our duty as the rulers of Locherby to make sure the kingdom was solvent. Our prosperity is the prosperity of the Realm and who better than I to know what our coffers hold, who is in our debt and whose debt we owe? I trust that knowledge to no one except you when you become King. And to Jared, of course.

"It was how he ruled and it is how I rule. You will one day inherit this desk and his legacy. It is one of the reasons why you are so well-schooled in so many things. It is important, Jensen, and you know that."

"All I know, Mother, is that you look tired and you should be able to rest once in a while."

She smiled. "You are such a good boy, Jensen. Now hurry to your lesson. We would not want you late for Master Jeff."

"No, of course we wouldn't want that," Jensen muttered.

"Jensen," she said sharply, at once maternal and monarch. "You will behave yourself and watch your tone. Master Jeff is well…you know how I feel about him. And you know him yourself. It would not be wise to upset the man."

"Mother, I am capable of handling myself and Master Jeff."

His mother's eyes softened just a bit.

"We shall see."

XXX

Jensen walked to the stables. He could have had an escort take him there, but they were close and he was in no mood for conversation or company. He was in no need of riding lessons either. He'd been riding since he was two and if he didn't know how to ride a damn horse by now, he should never be allowed to be king.

Jeff stood outside a round pen as one of the older lads lunged a filly.

"More impulse, Ian."

Jensen watched as Ian pushed the filly forward with the end of the rope.

Jeff yelled from the side of the ring, "IMPULSE not SPEED for Chrisakes."

The boy at the other end of the rope made a few adjustments and the filly slowed, collecting herself. It was only for a few strides, but Jensen could see the difference. Her powerful hindquarters were driving forward, her forehand light.

"See that! That's, what I mean."

"Yes, sir!" the boy yelled.

Then a bit softer, Jeff called to Ian. "Don't worry if she can't hold it long. She's not strong enough. Just get her to do it a few strides a few more times around and then let her relax. Good work."

Ian beamed at his master's praise.

Jensen yawned.

Another day, another lesson.

XXX

Jeff crossed his arms and studied Jensen appraisingly. It was the type of look that never boded well for Jensen and he knew it. Jensen had cooled off a bit from the swordplay this morning, but not by much.

"You are riding Volt. Tack her up and meet me in the ring in 15 minutes."

_Volt. Great. _She was a lovely filly, spirited, fun and sensitive. It would take finesse to ride her. Finesse Jensen had, but didn't feel today. He'd much rather ride Mont or Gowan - both were good geldings - maybe even one of the colts. Gaylord was his favorite. The colt still had his balls so he was full of himself and he was the son of Magnus, Lockerby's foundation stallion. He was a large dark gray almost black and would probably gray out to look like his sire. He could be a handful, but that's what Jensen wanted, something he could use a little heavier hand with, but no.

Volt.

He shrugged and went to the filly's stall. She was three, green and a difficult ride. She wasn't mean, but she was young and Jensen knew why Jeff chose her. He'd seen his altercation with Sir Gael and he wanted to bring him down a peg or two, but not by allowing him to strong arm Gaylord.

He called Volt quietly. She wouldn't respond to tough. She snorted once and then stepped lightly toward him, her delicate nostrils flaring. Jensen could almost feel her scenting the air - sweat, boy, sweet hay and manure. Jensen slipped the leather halter over her head, attached a lead rope to her and led her into the aisle.

A quick brush, clean her hooves, check her legs. Jensen wouldn't put it past Jeff to give him a sore horse and then bitch him out when he didn't notice it. He saddled and bridled her, but it wasn't easy. She would dance away when he tried to pull the cinch up. _Flighty little bitch._ She was good about the bridle though, taking the thick snaffle bit with no trouble at all.

"Easy, you wee devil," he remarked quietly. Then he led her from the darkened, cool barn to the blazing afternoon sun.

Jeff was standing in the middle of the ring, riding crop in one hand, boots and breeches, well worn but clean and free of dust. His blouse had once been white and years of wearing it had turned it a soft fawn, except where the front and back were soaked with sweat. He had a very determined look in his eyes.

"Mount your horse, My Lord."

Jensen gathered his reins neatly. He expertly put his left foot in the stirrup and then gracefully slid into the saddle effortlessly.

Volt danced to the left.

"If you kick her like that, boy, you'll find yourself arse on the ground."

"I didn't kick her," Jensen growled.

"Then why did she move left?"

"Because my foot touched her left side when I put my foot in her stirrup, Master Jeff."

"So you kicked her."

"I mounted her. It's not my fault she hasn't been trained to stand. Maybe _you _should work on that."

"Maybe you depend too much on stirrups. Take them off."

Jensen moaned. No stirrups. Shit. Shit and double shit. But he lifted the saddle flaps and Volt swiveled left and right. His center of balance was challenged constantly and the filly was doing everything in her power besides bucking to dislodge his oddly placed weight. Finally he managed to unhook the stirrups. He dropped them in the dust.

"Is that how we treat tack, Jensen?"

"You told me to take them off and I did."

"Dismount, place them on the rail and then remount."

"With no stirrups?"

"Why? Do you think you may never lose stirrups in a fight and might have to mount without them? Perhaps you should just tell your adversary to wait a moment and not run you through with dirk or saber while you collect your stirrups. Do it."

Jensen literally bit his tongue. He threw his right leg over Volt, holding the reins in his left and then balanced himself a moment on two arms, steadying his weight over her saddle and then landed lightly in the dirt. He grabbed the stirrups from the ground, still holding the dancing mare, and none to gently deposited them on the side of the ring, looping them over a pole. He lead Volt back to the center of the ring, just a few steps from Jeff.

"You will clean them after your ride."

"Of course," Jensen said.

Now mounting a horse with no stirrups is not really very hard if one is athletic and Jensen was a very athletic young man, but Volt was a spirited filly who may or may not have ever had someone jump on her back sans stirrups. Not to mention she was very tall, 16 hands if she was an inch. Jensen gathered the reins once again, mostly in his left and leapt up to her saddle, holding himself with two arms just like he had dismounted and then threw his right leg over her back. He settled hard on her saddle.

Volt did not like.

She offered a small buck and than bolted down the long side of the ring.

"Get her under control!" Jeff bellowed, "If she strains a tendon, I'll beat you within an inch of your life."

Three quarters around the ring, Jensen had Volt quieted to a jig, hardly the steady walk she should be doing, but she was no longer galloping like a nut. He blew hard through his mouth, sat deep in the saddle and half halted, asking her to slow.

She ignored him.

"Sloppy half halt, Jensen. She has no idea what you are asking."

"She knows exactly what I want. She is just choosing to ignore me."

"Like a certain prince when called upon to practice swordsmanship with a knight."

Jensen stopped Volt with a sharp jerk on her mouth. She stopped, shaking and pinning her ears back.

"So it is going to be like this all lesson? You are going to hound me for earlier with Sir Gael? If so, then we should stop right now. I'm in no mood to be dressed down by you for something that occurred earlier today."

Jeff walked over to Jensen, gathered the reins in his hand, voice soothing as he patted the filly. She was already sweaty, her coat starting to lather although Jensen had only been on her for all of five minutes. He glared up at his Prince. His voice low, "If I ever see you snatch a horse in the mouth like that in my presence again. You won't sit a horse for a week. That, My Lord, is a promise. And it won't be because you won't have lessons. It will be because your arse will be redder than that filly's coat. Are we very clear on this?"

"Yes," Jensen ground out.

"Now, on the track at the walk. You do remember what a walk is? Can you tell me?"

Jensen rolled his eyes, but headed to the side of the ring. "The slowest natural gait. A four beat lateral movement with each hoof clearly hitting the ground. It should be cadenced and balanced."

"Well, it's good you remember something from your toddler days."

Jensen said nothing, but asked the filly to a walk using almost no rein, just his body quieting her excitement by sitting deep in the saddle, slowing her down by being a half a beat slower than what she wanted to be doing. His long legs quiet, his body steady. She responded in kind, slowing, stretching her head low, reaching for the bit.

"A little better," Jeff said.

"That's it?" Jensen asked incredulously. "Ian manages to get that damn filly earlier to engage for two strides and he gets 'Good work.' I calm down this maniac with no stirrups and almost no rein and she is long and low and wonderful and all I get is 'A little better.' "

"Shall I throw a party for you, Jensen? It's better. It's not good enough. To be truthful, it's not even good. She's still twitching her tail and if you take a look at her ears, you'll see she hardly relaxed."

Jensen boiled. Jeff rarely said anything nice when working with any of the boys. On any day, "A little better," would have sent either Jared or even Jensen beaming for the next two hours. But today, Jensen wanted more. He wanted a reward for having managed to keep crazy Volt quiet enough to make a regular, fucking four beat walk. Fucking TODDLER DAYS! This mare was so hot, she made a fucking fire look positively frozen and he was walking her around, loose rein and she wasn't trying to kill him or herself.

Jensen stopped, careful not to ask too hard with his hands. He took Jeff for his word about the red arse.

"Done," he said and he carefully dismounted and started leading Volt back to the barn.

"Where do you think you're going, lad?"

"Home."

"Your lesson isn't over."

"Yes, it is."

Jeff stepped over to Jensen, blocking his forward movement.

"You will not walk away from me like you did with Sir Gael this morning, boy."

"I most certainly will. I am your Prince,_ JEFF_. I pay your salary. If it wasn't for me, you would be living in some crappy livery stable somewhere, mucking stalls and taking care of third-class nags with no hope of going anywhere."

Jeff stood shocked for a moment and that gave Jensen an amazing power rush. He had managed to stop the great Jeff Morgan in his tracks.

"Good day," Jensen said, turning his back on Jeff and leading Volt out of the arena and into the barn.

He would like to have grinned or better yet laughed, but despite that, he wasn't willing to put Volt up without untacking and taking her out back to cool her off.

He spotted Ian finishing up mucking some stalls.

"Ian, untack Volt and cool her off."

Ian looked at his mucking assignment, the bucket half full of manure, but jumped to obey Jensen. The boy was a good six years Jensen's elder, but he was a stable boy and Jensen was his Prince.

"Yes, My Lord." Ian grabbed Volt's reins and quickly untacked the filly. He carefully haltered her efficiently and then swiped her over with some fresh hay balled into a quick but effective curry comb. He led her out to the cooling area.

Now Jensen did grin. This Prince stuff was pretty awesome sometimes.

He now had the afternoon to do with as he wished. Maybe he would grab Jared and go for a swim. There was a stream not too far from the barn and it opened to a large pool the boys often swam in when it was this hot.

Then again, maybe not.

A dip for himself. Let the trout tickle his toes and get far away from Locherby and swords and horses, Sir Gael, and Master Jeff. He wanted to say Mother's way too but he couldn't even say that to himself. He deserved the rest. He sure deserved the piece and quiet.

Jeff was standing at the barn's door obviously watching Jensen's musing brain. His face was stern, but his body relaxed. Jensen drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked past Jeff as if he owned the place.

Which he did.

XXX

The stream pond was glorious, crystal clear. So clear in fact that you could see the fish swimming as long as you didn't scare them off with big splashing. Jensen had no intention of splashing. He dropped his clothes on the bank, leaving a trail as he slid his blouse over his head, breeches unlaced and pulled down then he hopped along naked pulling off his boots one at a time. He did stop briefly to peal off his stockings. It was too bad he was on this side of the pond. It wasn't deep enough to jump in here. You needed more a gentle wade until you hit deeper water. The other side was great fun for running jumps. But he didn't want to run and jump. He wanted to relax.

And that was just what he did. He waded out until it was chest deep and then dove gently under, feeling the sun's brief heat on his arse as he went all the way down. He'd always loved swimming here; sometimes with other boys, the stable lads and Jared, but he liked it alone too. He floated awhile and then he felt fish nibbling on his toes. He giggled. It sounded foreign to him.

Jensen headed back to the shore, but stopped hip deep when he realized his clothes were no longer strewn upon the bank.

"Whoever took those clothes, you better bring them back! Jared, if that's you I swear I will kick your arse!"

Jeff stepped out from behind the trees, carefully holding Jensen's clothes in one hand, his boots in the other.

"Oh, lad, Jared is not the one who is in for an arse kicking."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I wouldn't, huh? Well, you're already butt naked and wet. Believe me, Jensen. Hurts a lot worse when you're wet. And if any one deserves to get his royal little arse kicked it's you."

Jeff didn't sound particularly mad, but that meant nothing. In fact, it was worse because Jensen knew damn well that Jeff never disciplined anyone or anybody unless he wasn't mad. He'd seem it many times, especially while riding. He would correct a horse instantly because that's what horses understood. But it was very purposeful and without anger. He'd never beat a horse for not understanding and he'd never used a crop unless it was necessary. A whip, a crop and spurs were aids…ways to make a horse understand what was expected. Not any different than hands or leg. They were teaching tools.

A few times the correction had been brief and explosive because there were horse behaviors that Jeff would not tolerate.

Biting. Rearing. Not respecting the man's space. All of those were disrespectful and when dealing with a 1,500-pound horse, respect was necessary.

Not even Magnus was allowed any of those behaviors. He could rear. He'd been train to rear on command, but only when asked. That was a warhorse maneuver. He had several under his repertoire. The rear was actually the Levades or Courbette. Both were used to allow the rider to see above the battle. There was also the impressive Cabriole. It was exceptionally amazing because Magnus would jump into the air and kick his hind legs out violently, effectively disarming anyone behind him. _And why in God's name was he running through warhorse maneuvers?_

Jensen answered his own question with his own answer for behaving like an arse all day. For disrespecting everyone he knew. Jensen knew that as well as he knew those damn warhorse maneuvers.

He was doomed. Unless…

"I apologize, Master Morgan, for my behavior today. For Sir Gael, for you, for Volt and even Ian."

"Ian? He's at the end of your list? Why? Because he is a stable boy and not a prince?"

"No, I… No, I would never –"

"Oh, yes. You would and you did."

"But I didn't mean it that way."

"Perhaps, but perhaps not. No matter. I don't think I have ever been so disappointed in you in my life. You make mistakes. You can be as stupid as any thirteen-year-old, but you have _never_ behaved like you did today. You will not ever again."

Jeff draped the clothes over a slim branch and then the boots next to the very same tree.

"Get out," Jeff said quietly and low.

Jensen wanted to go back. He could swim well, tread water for a long while. Hell, he could swim to the other side of the pond and trot his naked self back to the castle. He wouldn't though, not the least of which was because running naked through Lockerby's forest was certainly not something a prince would do. The ramifications of that were almost unthinkable.

He was the Prince of Locherby, heir to the Throne. He'd said it to himself _and everyone else,_ several times today. It meant something. He thought back to his mother this morning. Her responsibilities and her duties. _His_ responsibility and duties. They all had them, Sir Gael, Ian, and Jeff Morgan.

Master Morgan was more than his Stable Master. He was a surrogate father since the King had died. They'd shared warm laughs and an occasional tussle under the guise of hand-to-hand combat. Jeff was not a knight, but he had been the King's best friend. He was a friend to Jared and Jensen too. Not the same way, course.

No. Jensen had responsibilities and that did not include running away.

He squared his shoulders and walked out of the water.

"Find a switch. Make it a good one." Jeff handed Jensen a knife.

Jensen walked into the woods with as much dignity as he could muster, which wasn't a lot really. Walking naked into the woods, dripping wet to get your own switch was hardly a dignified situation.

He chose one with enough heft to meet Jeff's approval, thin enough to create quite the stripe on his arse.

He returned to Jeff and handed him the switch. Jeff whistled it through the air. The sound made Jensen shudder just a bit. Then Jeff smacked himself once through his breeches.

"Ow. This is gonna hurt," he said almost offhandedly.

"Get on with it," Jensen ground out.

Jeff arched one brow in Jensen's direction.

"I'm sorry, sir…it's just waiting here is horrible."

Jeff nodded his head. "I imagine it is. Don't worry, I don't want you to dry off." Jeff crooked a finger at Jensen and Jensen stepped toward him. Jeff pointed to an overturned tree and for that Jensen was thankful. He didn't want to be spanked over Jeff's lap like a little kid. He hadn't counted on the rough bark making contact with his cock and balls though.

He certainly wasn't ready for the first lick of the switch on his arse. Liquid fire. Christ, he almost stood up and grabbed his arse to dance out of the way. It was followed by another almost immediately directly below the first. Jensen gasped. Another swish of the switch and he did jump this time. Unfortunately for his cock and balls, the tree was in the way.

"SHIT!"

"Better be a little more still, lad, or you'll be picking splinters and bark off a place that should never have either."

"Jeff…Master Jeff, I am truly sorry."

"You already said you were sorry. I'm sure you are. Be still."

Jensen gripped his fingers into the bark of the tree ready for another lick. It came, but from the other direction and once again, he wasn't prepared for that.

Jeff chuckled a bit grimly. "Didn't know I could be work left handed too, did ya?"

"Master Jeff. Please."

"Oh, so you do have manners?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think you can remember them when I'm not behind you smacking your tail."

"Most definitely…sir."

"Just to make sure," Jeff said low.

Two more left-handed strokes and then another from which direction Jensen couldn't tell.

He heard the switch snap in half and saw it thrown out of his peripheral vision.

_Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou._

"Get your clothes on. We have a bit of a walk back to the barn."

"The barn?"

"I should make you finish your lesson, but I'm not a sadist. Still, you will take care of Volt. I want her coat shining like that crown you will wear some day."

Jensen grimaced as he pulled up his riding britches. They were far too snug for walking with fire burning in switch-shaped stripes up and down his rump, but he had no choice. He sat on the wretched downed tree with a yelp and pulled on his stockings then boots. He was breathing heavy by the time he pulled his blouse over his head. He stood slowly, wiping his shirt-sleeve over his eyes. He wasn't sobbing, but he couldn't stop the tears.

Jeff waited quietly, just standing next to Jensen without saying anything, facing the pond, which by now was brilliant gold and bronze in the late afternoon sun. Once Jensen regained his composure he turned to Jeff.

"I once again apologize for my actions today. I am thankful to have such a wise Master who is unwilling to allow me to behave in such a disgraceful manner."

"And I am thankful to have a future King who can recognize such things," Jeff said solemnly.

They walked through the forest together side by side. It was a bridle path. There was room for them to do so. Neither said anything for a while, both absorbed in their own thoughts.

"You know how much I disapproved of your behavior today, Jensen."

"Your displeasure was very obvious."

"But I don't want you to think that I feel any less of you for your actions."

"How could you not? I was reprehensible."

"True, you were. But you are young yet, just a colt. Which is why it is best to learn these things now, so instead of Gaylord, you become Magnus."

Jensen couldn't help but smile. "So you will have me servicing young fillies?"

"What you do when you are of an age is your business. But I hope that whomever you…" Jeff cleared his throat, "service, show her the respect she deserves, not dally with her like Magnus does. While Magnus has many admirable qualities, some that you could certainly emulate, his ability to sire colts and fillies is not something you should endeavor to do. You may have a dalliance or two when you become older, but the woman you love, who you chose to be a wife, should be worthy to become a Queen."

Jensen looked hard at Jeff. "Are you saying she must be of royal blood? Rich and of good lineage?"

Jeff slowed his pace a bit, "Well, a good pedigree is always nice, but there are some wonderful mares out there who have the best breeding in the world and I wouldn't use them as a plow horse."

Jensen was losing the focus between horses and women. He wasn't quite sure who or what they were talking about any more. "What do I always say about a new horse when they come into the barn? What do I look for?"

Jensen sighed, another test. "Kind eye, spirit and heart. Courage and loyalty, good legs and hooves?"

Jeff laughed out loud. "Well, they all pertain to a woman too, except for the hooves. Hooves on a woman are a whole different thing and probably not what you want.

"You will know when you see her, Jensen. You've got a great role model in your Queen. If you find someone half the woman she is, you will be fine."

Jensen winced as the fabric of his britches rubbed against his wounded rear end.

"Will you be there to counsel me for that decision?"

"If you ask for counsel, I will be truthful. But that will be your choice, My Lord, not mine."

"Well, as long as your disapproval in my choice does not result in something similar to today, I suppose I can live with that."

Jeff laughed again. "If you find yourself at the end of my switch by that time, I will have failed as your teacher."

"Plus, I may have you thrown in the dungeon," Jensen commented.

"That remains to be seen, lad. Remains to be seen."

End.


End file.
